


A Torch to Sear the Devil's Skin

by MargaretKire



Series: Between the Darkness and the Door [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Both Matt and Frank POV, Coffee, Frank doesn't realize Matt is blind at first, Frank recovering from his injuries, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Matt's sensitivity to touch is very strong, Spoilers, brief memories of Frank's wife and children, canon divergence after season 2 episode 4, lots of sensual stuff about fingers, mention of Foggy and Claire, safe and happy pitbull
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MargaretKire/pseuds/MargaretKire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt decides at the last moment not to let the cops take Castle when they are talking in the graveyard. He can't. He senses what will happen to him in the justice system, and he is also too moved by the story of his family. </p><p>They are so much alike. They are so different. </p><p>He brings him home. </p><p>Feelings that have already started from earlier (canon) encounters get stronger. Things get complicated and confusing very quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Torch to Sear the Devil's Skin

He listened to his heartbeat, took in the low rumble of his voice, and let the horrific details of Castle’s loss flood over him. Matt could smell the blood, and knew the man’s face must be a mess. Likely as bruised and battered as his own. The smell of blood mingled with that of the dirt, of the coffee Frank liked to drink, of the man himself.

That was something Matt always marveled at. Each person had a unique scent. High emotions added to the intensity of what he felt coming from Castle. Matt ignored his own protesting muscles as he sat on the cold wet earth, breathing in the emotions washing between them.

Castle described how he’d held his daughter’s corpse in his arms, the meat and blood gushing from where her face used to be, and Matt couldn’t hold back the tears that spilled from his sightless eyes and rolled over his cheeks to drop off his chin once they escaped the mask.

He heard the sirens approaching. They were still far enough away to…

No. He needed Castle to be behind bars. Hell’s Kitchen was safer with Castle behind bars.

Matt focused on Castle’s breathing. He could hear the gurgle of blood. He had been monitoring his wounds while they sat in the cold rain, Castle leaning against the headstone of a man who had died over a hundred years ago, his body long since turned to bones beneath them. Castle drew another ragged breath. Still very much alive. In terrible pain.

Matt took one shaking breath. Then another. He listened to the approaching siren. There was still time.

“I should pack it all in, Red,” Castle said, the emotion raw in his deep rumble of a voice.

“Come on,” Matt said, hoisting himself to his feet, inwardly groaning at the pain. The adrenaline rush had died away, allowing the hurt to wash over both of them. It made Matt realize how cold and they both were. Castle would be in agonizing pain by this point. Especially his foot. Something horrible had happened to his left foot, though Matt wasn't sure exactly what. He could smell the blood and could hear the bones shifting and rubbing.

“Wha...what the hell, Red?” Castle groaned has Matt helped him to stand, making sure the weight was mainly on his good right foot. Matt wrapped Castle’s left arm firmly over his shoulder again, and they hobbled away from the sirens.

Matt’s head spun. This had not been the plan. He had suddenly realized what this man’s life would be like if he allowed him to be taken into police custody. The farce of a trial. Labeled a madman when he so clearly wasn’t. Ill? Maybe. But during the last ten minutes of Castle’s story, Matt had acknowledged what he had been on the verge of accepting for weeks now. The Punisher had morals. He was not a madman. He was tortured by loss. That was something Matt could understand. When his father died, if he had been the Daredevil then...how could he say that all those men responsible for his father’s murder wouldn’t have met a similar fate at his hands?

He needed a new plan. One that kept Castle out of custody. Away from the media circus. As much as Matt wanted the police to gain credibility, to dissuade vigilantes in Hell’s Kitchen, he would not allow it with Castle. He wasn’t the right one to use as a symbol of justice. He was his own symbol of justice, and while Matt didn’t agree with his methods, he could understand them. At least, he could see them as the harsh justice of a good man.

Castle was heavy. Their progress was too slow. He was still bleeding. Internally as well, judging by the way he was gurgling blood. He needed medical care. Matt thought of Claire, but dismissed it. There was another option, though Matt was loathe to use it.

He finally got them onto a residential street bordering the far side of the cemetery. He could hear the rain bouncing off the metal roof of a car a few yards away.

“Any good at hot-wiring cars?” Matt asked conversationally.

Castle grunted. “How did ya know, Red? Happens I am quite good at it.”

Matt considered him doubtfully for a few seconds. Castle’s heartbeat proclaimed he actually could get a car started for them. The next question was the one he was more concerned about.

“Would you be able to drive it?” He could feel Castle’s look.

“Yes,” he answered, still studying Matt. “Your license expire or something?”

“Something like that,” Matt replied.

The whole process took less time than Matt had been expecting. He gave Castle an address, and they somehow managed to stay on the road. Soon they were pulling into a small private parking garage. Matt gave Castle the codes to punch in at each set of barriers, and they were finally pulling into a parking spot.

Castle’s breathing had gotten more excruciating. Matt could sense the trembling in Castle’s hands and legs. When he helped him out of the car, he leaned heavily on Matt. He was close to passing out, and from the sound of his breathing and weakened heartbeat, not to mention the overwhelming smell of fresh blood, Matt was amazed he was standing at all.

He took them through another coded entrance and then down a short hallway. Matt stopped in front of a door, knowing both from memory, and the sound of the voice inside, that they had reached the right place.

It took the promise of a favor and of a large cash settlement, but the result was a thoroughly, although hastily, patched-up Castle, and a bag full of medical supplies. Thrown into the bargain was a change of ill-fitting clothes for each of them, blood stain removal for the inside of the stolen car, and finally, a cab to take them to Matt’s apartment.

Just to be on the safe side, Matt had the cab take them to another busy location, and then hailed a fresh cab. No sense in being immediately tracked to his home.

Once Castle was passed out in Matt’s bed, the morphine from his impromptu illegal surgery keeping him in a pain-free haze, Matt was free to pace his living room and wonder what the fuck he’d just done. He had given up the perfect opportunity to hand Castle over to the authorities. Matt was trying to build up the force’s reputation. He knew there were a lot of good people wearing badges now. Castle was a hardened killer. He was a vigilante and every bit as stubborn about his methods as Matt was about his own.

Yet...that sixth sense of his had warned him that things wouldn’t go well with Castle in police custody.

Castle had talked about the love for his family. The agonizing loss. And then he had said he was going to pack it all in. Those words chilled Matt. He sensed an undercurrent in them, one that could result in several outcomes. Only one of them bloodless. That was the one Matt was going to try and help him realize.

Matt drank several glasses of water before allowing himself to crack open the bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a single, just needing to take the edge off a bit. He sat on the sofa and held the glass to his nose, gratefully obliterating the new smells in the apartment. The disorienting scents of blood and morphine. Of sweat and skin that was not his own.

His hearing was still perfect though, and even a room away, Matt could clearly make out Frank’s breathing, finally not gurgling and struggling, but smooth and deep. The steady, deep-bass thump of his heart. The occasional restless movement and small murmur under the gentle hand of the drug.

How was he going to reach this man?

A thought suddenly struck Matt. He set the remainder of his whiskey on the coffee table and suited up. He double-checked the lock on the front door and then the sleeping man in his bed. Matt stood and listened to his heart beat for several minutes. He inhaled his smell, already sensing the shift in chemicals. He was healing. And he would sleep for several more hours. Matt should have enough time.

***

Frank thrashed around in his mind, the dreams beginning to recede. The unmistakable grip of morphine losing its hold. The first pain he was aware of was his battered face, followed and then quickly overtaken by the pain in his chest and left foot.

Oh, that was right. They busted his ribs and that red headed bastard had put a messy hole in the top of his foot. Well, that guy was dead, and Frank was still alive.

He moaned as he tried to sit up and open his eyes all at the same time. That turned out to be a terrible idea. Pain exploded in his head and face, and everything that hadn’t been hurting before suddenly flared to life.

Frank heard an odd, happy whining noise to his right, and suddenly there was a large warm tongue lapping excitedly at his fingers. He opened his eyes, much more cautiously, and squinted at the blissful gray face of his rescued pitbull. A cry of joy left him.

“You’re alive,” he croaked. He stroked the dog’s eager head and pulled on his soft ears. He looked into those loyal eyes, watched the dog struggle to get closer to him without leaping onto the bed without permission, tale swinging furiously, and something in Frank cracked just for a second. With one broken sob, he patted the bed, and the pitbull crawled up next to him, whimpering with glee. Frank held him around the neck and refused to cry.

Frank wasn’t sure how long he lay there, hurting all over and fighting the lump in his throat, breathing in the dog’s comforting smell. A movement in the doorway finally alerted him to Daredevil’s presence. He stood leaning in the door frame in his armor and mask, watching the pair.

“Does he have a name?” Red asked.

“Naw, not really,” Frank returned, his voice feeling strained and his throat sore. “I’ve been calling him Champ more than anything else.” He rubbed the dog’s ears, looking at him again in wonder. “Thought I’d never see him again. Did those bastards hurt him?”

“No, though they didn’t feed him either. He just finished off a healthy portion of dog chow and drank a full bowl of water. I’ll take him out in a bit for a walk.”

“Dressed like that I suppose,” Frank snorted. “In your new red pj’s.”

“Hmmm, glad you noticed the upgrade,” Red smirked. “As a matter of fact, I do possess casual clothes. And the mask does come off.” Red gave no indication of removing it, however, and Frank turned his attention to the room.

“Yours?” Frank asked.

“Yep.” There was a long pause.

“Why, Red?” Frank asked. Daredevil didn’t move. The silence lasted a beat too long.

“Why what?” He finally responded, though Frank knew he had understood his meaning. So he waited. Red sighed. “I don’t know,” Red finally said. “Well, that’s not true. But there are a lot of reasons why. It’s complicated.”

Frank snorted. His pain level was slowly spiking. He didn’t want to admit it, but in a few more minutes, he wasn’t going to be able to focus on much else. As if reading his mind, Red walked over to the nightstand and opened a bottle of painkillers. He handed a few to Frank along with the glass of water he hadn’t noticed sitting there.

“What, no more morphine?” Frank asked, trying to sound simply sarcastic, but not quite hiding his disappointment.

“Something tells me you have an addictive personality, and that a steady diet of morphine is begging for dependency issues,” Daredevil said, smiling patronizingly down at him.

“You are a complete asshole. I want a new nurse,” Frank grumbled.

What had happened to his life that he was lying in the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’s bed, cuddling an Irish mafia dog, bantering with a costumed freak that had caused him nothing but pain and inconvenience? At least up to the point where he had saved his life and refused to turn him in.

Frank knew he owed him some sort of debt. He wouldn’t go so far as to call it loyalty, not yet. But he definitely owed him at least gratitude. If not his life. And then there was Champ. He’d found his mascot. The one life Frank had managed to save rather than take during this whole bloody business.

Red was smiling down at him. This could be worse, Frank thought. He hoped he wouldn’t have to hurt Red too badly when he gave him the slip. Though he would still have to recover a bit before he was ready for that. He suddenly recalled the other man’s reaction to his story about his family, about Lisa. Genuine tears. That had meant more to Frank then he would ever let on.

He took the opportunity of the other man’s nearness in the natural light to look at him more closely. He mostly saw him at night or under dim lights. He had a new suit, that much Frank had noticed last night. Frank wondered if he’d kept the one that he himself had ruined with a shot to the vigilante’s head. Not a kill shot, but he was sure it had caused Daredevil considerable trouble. He felt guilty about that. He shook it off and resumed his scrutiny. If Red minded his staring he didn’t show it. He just looked back at him through the mask’s strange red eyes.

When the light was just right, Frank could see the blink of his eyelids behind those blood-colored lenses, but couldn’t make out any detail. The part of his face that was exposed revealed that he might have been a few years younger than Frank. His jaw was dusted with a few day’s stubble. He could just make out a hint of his nose, which looked to be in a lot better shape than his own. Frank let his eyes drop to his mouth. He had been avoiding looking at those full lips, red and expressive. The corner of that mouth quirked into a small smirk, and Frank dropped his eyes, turning his attention to Champ instead, who had begun whining.

“Better go change into your day wear, Red. This guy needs to go out.”

***

Matt got changed into a t-shirt and jeans, pulled a henley over his head, and slipped into some boots. He didn’t go back into the bedroom, but called the dog as he opened the front door, hoping the animal understood his intentions. The dog whined, and Frank had to urge him down from the bed, but soon he was trotting up to Matt. He hooked the leash he’d had the foresight to buy to Champ’s collar, and took him to the park. If the people around him seemed dubious as to the pit bull’s suitability as a seeing eye dog, no one commented.

They made it to the park and back without incident, though Matt’s heightened sense of smell made picking up after Champ a highly distasteful procedure. When they were back, Matt listened instinctively for Castle, and relaxed when he heard his steady heartbeat from the bedroom. Matt scrubbed his hands and then made them each a pile of sandwiches. He poured a glass of water for Castle and opened a beer for himself.

The sun must have set about an hour ago, and Matt assumed the bedroom was mostly in shadow. There weren’t any working lamps in the bedroom, though there were several fixtures in the other rooms that he kept in repair for those rare occasions he had company. He hoped that in the dim light from the street lamps and billboards outside, his blindness wouldn’t be immediately apparent. He wasn’t sure why he was so anxious to put off the inevitable reveal that he was a sightless vigilante. He didn’t want Castle to laugh at him, to dismiss him as a freak. Right now they were equals. When the truth was revealed, they might not be.

He left his dark glasses in a kitchen drawer and walked into the bedroom with the plate in one hand, the water and beer pinched in the other hand. Castle was awake. By his heart rate and breathing, Matt could tell that the pain medication was doing its job.

“You keep it pretty dark in here, Red,” Castle greeted him.

“Sorry. The bulb burned out and I keep forgetting to replace it.”

“Is that why you left the mask out there?” Castle asked, and though he was trying to keep his voice somewhere between neutral and irritated, Matt could hear the curiosity in it. He just shrugged in response.

“Can’t wear it all the time, and you’re going to be here for awhile. Thought you might be hungry,” Matt said. “But first, shall I escort you to the john?”

“No need,” Castle replied. “I hobbled there myself while you two were gone.”

Matt sighed. “I really hope you didn’t open up your stitches.” Matt could already tell he had. He could smell a small amount of fresh blood, though it wasn’t enough to seriously alarm him.

“Nope,” Castle replied, and even though it was a lie, his heart barely registered it as one. There was the smallest increase of the rate for a second, and then it was gone. Matt was going to have to keep sharp if he was going to catch him lying.

He could tell from the location of his voice and heartbeat that Castle was already sitting up in the bed. Matt set the water on the stand within Castle’s reach and set the plate next to Castle on the blanket. Then he unceremoniously sat down on the mattress, sitting cross legged a comfortable distance away from Castle but still close enough to reach the sandwiches. He grabbed one and took a sip of beer.

“Not fair,” Castle protested. “Why don’t I get a beer?”

“The medication you’re on. Not the best idea.” Frank snorted in annoyance.

“Figures, Altar Boy.” They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Matt could tell that Castle was studying his face. He heard his heart rate increase the tiniest fraction as he stared at him, and Matt wondered if he could tell. His own heart gave a little squeeze of fear.

Castle didn’t say anything about it though, and soon they had polished off the sandwiches. Matt took the plate and his empty beer bottle back to the kitchen. He gave Champ a fresh bowl of water, and then pulled the cushion off his rattiest chair and hauled it into the bedroom. He laid it in the corner and called the dog off the bed where he was nuzzled up to Castle. The dog came shamefaced, as though he realized that sleeping on the bed was a one-time luxury. He huffed as he fell onto the cushion and graciously accepted his fate.

“No pets on the furniture, Red? Isn’t that a bit fussy even for you?”

“You may not have noticed,” Matt replied, “but you are recovering from surgery. That, and those sheets are actually silk and cost a fortune.”

Castle laughed at him. It was a short barking sound that was strangely pleasant to listen to. Matt frowned.

“Silk! I thought they felt soft. Why do you, a man beat to a bloody pulp each night, need silk sheets, for fuck’s sake? Are they more blood absorbent?”

“Something like that,” Matt sighed. There was no easy way to explain the sheets. Anything other than the highest quality fabrics chaffed him because of his ridiculously heightened sensitivity. On top of that, his night life as a vigilante always left his skin insanely tender. Cotton would have felt like sandpaper next to all the cuts and bruises he was constantly acquiring. He would never be able to get the few hours of sleep he did get without a little bit of hedonism.

Matt pet Champ’s soft gray head, and then left for the living room. He had no real idea what to do. They were between cases so he didn’t have any paperwork. He could go out and be a vigilante, but he didn’t like the idea of leaving Castle alone for that long, even though it was obvious he was fairly mobile and healing fast. Matt would need to get him some crutches tomorrow so he could get around easier.

Then there was the question of what to do with him after he recovered. Did he really think Castle would give up his homicidal philosophy just because Matt found his dog and made him sandwiches?

He had made Castle a promise yesterday when he was helping him escape. He had promised that those responsible for the death of his family would pay. Matt could help with that. Not in Punisher’s way, maybe, but by helping Castle bring those responsible to justice.

Matt poured himself a whiskey. He intended to think about the different lines of inquiry he would have to pursue, the different people he had to contact as both Daredevil and Matt Murdock.

“Hey, Red.” Castle’s voice carried clearly through the apartment, gravely and deep. There was an edge to it. Not anger. It was closer to frustration.

“Yes?” Matt asked, leaning in the door frame.

“If you’re going to sit out there in the dark drinking whiskey, how about bringing the party in here. It’s just as dark, and I want some of that too.” Matt was about to open his mouth to respond, but Castle cut him off. “Don’t give me that line about the painkillers. They’ve practically worn off anyway, and I prefer whiskey to another handful of pills.” When Matt still hesitated, he added, “Indulge me.”

Matt gave in - much too easily - and went and got the bottle and another glass. He poured a single and handed it to Frank, who growled.

“It’s not so dark in here that I can’t tell a single from a double,” he complained, tossing it back and holding out the glass for a refill. “Gimme a double. I promise to make it last this time.” Matt shook his head, but reached out to refill the glass, unerringly pouring him a double without losing a drip.

Matt walked to the bedroom window and opened it a crack, letting in a small breeze and some noise from the city. If he was going to sit next to Castle for more than a few minutes, he was going to need the distraction. Already the warm smell of him filled the room, and when he spoke, the rich timbre of his voice shot sparks down Matt’s back.

After filling his own glass, Matt sat down next to Castle at the head of the bed, leaning back against the wall. He left a respectful distance between them, but also made himself comfortable, not wanting to show fear or...whatever it was he felt...by sitting perched at the edge of the mattress.

They sipped their whiskeys in silence for several minutes, just listening to the outside noise and Champ’s gentle snoring. Matt suddenly sensed the tension in the body next to him. For a moment he thought it was his pain level spiking, but the heart rate and breathing weren’t quite right for a pure pain response. Something else was driving the apprehension. He waited. Castle heaved in a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he said. Matt froze, not sure what to say. There was another pause. Castle’s breathing hitched and his heart rate continued in a faster drumbeat than usual. With any other man, the pace sounded completely peaceful and at rest. But Matt was learning quickly that the changes in Castle’s system were subtle and difficult to read.

“You didn’t have to bring me here,” Castle continued. “You could have turned me over to the cops.” He sipped his alcohol, then let out a sigh. Matt could sense him smiling slightly. “And you bought me a puppy as a surprise.”

Matt chuckled. Castle looked over at him and seemed to be trying to make out his face in the dim light. He gave a tiny, frustrated grunt and finished off his drink.

“You know,” Castle said, “in the morning I will totally be able to see you clearly.”

“I know,” Matt said, and hated the forlorn sound of his own voice.

“That is, unless you want to wear a ski mask or something.” Matt laughed at that. He shook his head. “Don’t tell me,” Castle said, humor clearly shining in his voice, “you have a terrible scar and are only doing this mask thing to hide it.” Matt shook his head.

“Not bad, but a little wide of the mark.”

“You’re a celebrity. Admit it. Politics by day, bare knuckle boxing at night.”

“I think my campaign people would notice the bruises and cuts eventually and get suspicious,” Matt responded, pouring more for each of them.

“Hmm,” Castle growled, clearly running out of ideas. Matt repressed the shiver that ran through him. He could feel the vibrations of that voice shoot through him at this close range. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.” They clinked glasses. Matt sighed.

“It will be obvious, I’m afraid.” Matt responded, not sure why he said it. He was clearly getting too comfortable. What was it about this man? He was one of the most dangerous people Matt had ever met. He had almost killed Matt more than once. Yet even when he’d had him chained up on the rooftop, they’d been able to talk as equals. This was not normal. Nothing about it was. Matt took another sip.

“Okay, one more guess,” Castle said, gesturing with his nearly empty glass. “You’ve got such a  pretty face that if you went out to have a good fight, no one could bring themselves to hit you, and you’d get bored and have to give up. I’m right, aren’t I?” They were both laughing a little helplessly by now.

“Ah, you got me,” Matt said. “That’s absolutely the reason.”

“Hmm, prove it,” Castle said, and before Matt could react, there was a large warm hand on his cheek. “I bet I can tell if you’re telling the truth or not by touching your face.” He set his glass down and brought his other hand to Matt’s jaw. His thumbs stroked Matt’s cheekbones while his fingers wrapped back around his head. His first fingers rested lightly at the join under his ear, the rest of his fingers trailing down his neck, as his rough thumbs explored his face.

The sensations running through Matt at the gentle touch were overwhelming. Although he faced pain and abuse almost every day of his adult life, he was ready for it, used to it. He’d spent two decades learning to deal with his heightened sense of pain. Mostly, he used it as fuel for his fighting rage.

Sensual touch, however, was so rare, he had no barrier against it. Even though it was an ongoing joke between him and Foggy, Matt rarely had sexual encounters. The few he’d had over the years had been so incredibly intense, he’d been more embarrassed than gratified. He would try to last as long as possible, but even kissing could bring him close, overwhelm him and flood him with strong sensations.

Strangely enough, this had made him seem cold to the few lovers he’d had. He fought so desperately just to last, to hold off his climax as long as possible, that he would often be silent and unemotional during lovemaking. Despite all his efforts, he inevitably came too soon, and ruined it for his partner. Even though his body recovered very quickly, he was usually too ashamed to try again, and would finish his partners with his mouth or his hand, usually coming for the second time when they did. Therefore, he often avoided sex. It was too degrading, too overwhelming, too distracting. Pain was better.

Castle’s touch flooded him with sensation. It had been a long time. It hadn’t been since Claire, and it had been even longer before that since he’d been caressed in any way. Matt gasped, his mouth falling open to suck in air, filling his sensations with whiskey, the city...Castle. He could feel Castle suck in his breath, surprised at Matt’s strong reaction to being touched.

“Am I hurting you?” He asked gently. His deep voice was so close, so beautifully rich and full of a tenderness he so seldom heard. Matt could feel the vibrations of that baritone shiver through him.

“N-no,” Matt managed, and his voice sounded wrecked, even to himself. He took a shuddering breath as Castle stroked his cheeks and ran his fingers down Matt’s throat. He moaned, his head falling back, giving in to the alien sensation of Castle’s rough caress.

Castle’s heart rate was skyrocketing, at least by his standards. The steady thump was building in Matt’s head. Castle took a deep breath.

“My god, Red, you’re so sensitive,” Castle said. His voice held a note of awe. Matt gasped and pulled back, ashamed. He set the glass he’d been holding on the dresser and moved towards the door.

“I’m sorry,” Matt whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Castle was trying to say something to him, but Matt turned and walked out of the apartment.

He climbed the stairs to the the roof and gulped fresh lungfuls of night air, pushing the scent of Castle out of his nose and his mouth. Still tasting the spike in the air of Castle’s arousal on his tongue. He was trembling from the encounter and horrified at how close he been. So close. He was still rock hard, and all from a caress on his face and neck.

Matt started questioning all his motives for bringing Castle to his apartment. Would he truly have done that for anyone else? He had tried to deny what he had felt during their three encounters on the rooftops before Matt had gone looking for him at the Irishman’s warehouse.

The first encounter had been brutal, and Castle had nearly killed him. But he hadn’t. The second was also brutal, but instead of killing him, the Punisher had dragged him off to the third encounter, trying to teach him a bizarre lesson in morality. Trying to get him to see his point of view. Wanting Matt to join him, or at least to _understand_. It was that effort to bond with him that had finally stirred Matt’s feelings. Even chained up, feeling helpless as Castle set up a deathtrap for dozens of men, there had been a strange kinship forming. An understanding.

They were so much alike. They were so different.

Matt ran his fingers down his throat over the invisible trails of fire Castle had left, feeling nothing of the burning sensation those other, rougher fingertips had left in their wake. That was the other thing that worried him. He had never responded to another’s touch that strongly or that quickly. He had also never been touched so tenderly by someone that had also inflicted so much pain.

The pain he could take. It was the pleasure that he feared.

***

Frank downed the dribble of whiskey left in his glass and considered pouring another. He decided against it, mainly because his head already hurt and he really didn’t need a hangover on top of it.

He managed to sort of half hop, half hobble to the bathroom and back again while Red was still making himself scarce. He had splashed cold water on his face in the bathroom sink trying to clear his head. Back in bed, he drank the rest of the water on the nightstand. Then he stared into space, waiting for any sound of Red’s return.

 _My God_ , Frank thought.

He hadn’t been expecting that reaction. He had been being flirtatious, he knew, and maybe he’d hoped for some positive reaction. From what he could see of Red in the devil get-up, he was definitely attractive. His mouth alone was a distraction. In some part of his mind, he already hated hitting him, though it was also so strangely satisfying.

Even in the gloom of the bedroom Castle could tell he was good looking. He was genuinely curious now to see him in daylight. He had just been joking about a deformity. He had assumed that the only reason Red wore the mask was for the dual purpose of hiding his identity and protection.

Red seemed to think there was something more to it than that. So Castle had been curious. He had turned it into an excuse to touch him. And then Red had reacted like _that_. Castle had barely been able to make him out in the dark, and hadn’t seen his expression, but the sound of his breath catching wildly had been more than he’d hoped for. In fact, he thought maybe he’d hurt him. That he’d had unhealed bruises concealed by the darkness. Yet Castle had sensed the pleasure and could tell that it wasn’t exactly pain that had caused that lovely gasp.

When he’d allowed his hands to trail down that throat, and Red had actually arched back and moaned, every nerve ending in Frank’s body had lit up. Even with all of his injuries, even not knowing what Red actually looked like without the mask, Castle would have pulled him down into a kiss...and more if Red had been willing. Instead he had apologized - _apologized_ \- and fled. If anyone should be apologizing it should be Frank. He hadn’t asked if it was ok to touch him…

Frank stopped short in his musings to snort derisively at himself. He’d shot that man in the head for fuck’s sake. And here he was, mortified that he’d lovingly caressed his throat. He hadn’t touched anyone tenderly since his wife... _No. Stop. Don’t think about it_.

It was hours later and Frank was drifting in and out of a fitful sleep when he heard Red come back into the apartment. He propped himself up on one elbow, waiting to see if any lights went on. They didn’t. Frank was beginning to think that Red’s superpower was being able to see in the dark. That would explain the amazing way he seemed to know exactly where to throw a punch even in the pitch black. It might also explain the red lenses in his mask.

Frank decided he would ask him in the morning. He rolled over and fell asleep.

***

Matt slept on the couch for a few hours, waking and sleeping in starts. He could hear Castle’s breathing, his heartbeat, every little soft moan and sigh he gave in his sleep.

He finally hauled himself of the couch at 5 a.m. and softly whistled for Champ. They took a long walk, stopping to get crutches for Castle on the way home. Matt fed Champ and then went back out to the grocery store to buy coffee and bread for toast.

Matt remembered that Castle had been drinking strong black coffee while they were on the roof - the third time - and so he bought something that smelled similar. Once back at his apartment, he checked on Castle, who was still asleep, though not very deeply, and leaned the crutches against the wall by the bed. He figured Castle would want to be as mobile as possible without a lot of fuss. After all, that’s how Matt felt about his own disability. At least Castle’s was temporary.

In the end, Matt was certain that it was the smell of coffee that got Castle out of bed. He heard the exact moment he woke up. Castle seemed to look around for a minute, reevaluating his surroundings. Matt started to make a little more noise in the kitchen to alert him to his presence. He heard Castle climb carefully out of bed and then fiddle with the crutches until he’d gotten them to the right height for his arms. Then the slow tapping as he made his way to the bathroom.

Matt purposefully stood facing away from him until he was safely in the bathroom. Then he filled a thermal carafe with the freshly brewed coffee, and a plate with buttered toast. He made some scrambled eggs and was just setting two plates down on the table when he heard the bathroom door open.

He’d left fresh clothes on the cabinet for Castle, as well as a towel, toothbrush, and shaving kit. He had felt it would be awkward to make Castle ask for such basic things, and so he decided just to leave them for him and hopefully they wouldn’t need to have a conversation about it.

When Castle clicked his way into the kitchen he smelled like body wash, shaving cream and clean clothes. Good. Matt had done the right thing, it seemed. Matt was pouring coffee while standing next to the table as Castle made his way closer, Matt’s head down as though he could see the mug in front of him. Of course, in a way he _could,_ just not with his eyes.

Castle stopped at the edge of the table. Matt could feel him searching him with his eyes, considering him. Matt was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, both dark if the salespeople were to be trusted. He had taken a shower before making breakfast, and was still barefoot, his damp hair swept back out of his face.

Matt finished pouring the coffee and held one mug out to Castle, head finally lifting up, eyes going right to where he knew the other man’s to be. He heard Castle’s breath hitch, and something funny happened with his heart beat. He took the mug from Matt, his fingertips just barely touching Matt’s as he took it out of his hands. Matt closed his eyes at the touch, fought it, and opened them again, though he couldn’t manage the focused look he’d pulled off just moments before.

He heard the mug being set down, and then the slow click of the crutches as Castle advanced on him. He stopped when he was very close, and Matt heard him lean the crutches against a chair. There was a long pause. Neither of them seemed to be breathing.

Matt sensed the hands before they cupped his face. He should have moved back, but he didn’t. He allowed it. Castle gently tipped Matt’s head first one way, and then the other, studying him minutely. Matt tried to keep his breathing under control, tried not to make a fool of himself. He felt naked without his mask, without his dark glasses to hide his unfocused eyes.

Castle slowly let his hands drop from his face, but he didn’t move away. He stood, considering Matt for a few moments.

“Last night, I had decided that I knew your secret,” Castle said, his voice so near that it shot through Matt like electricity. “I was going to announce - very smugly - that you could see in the dark.” There was a long pause. He continued so softly that it was barely a gravelly whisper. “But you can’t see at all, can you?”

Matt shook his head. He decided answer the inevitable questions. “I was blinded when I was nine, in an accident, and…”

“And you have heightened senses because of it,” Castle finished for him. Matt could tell he was shaking his head in wonder. “The way you fight. The way you move. I never would have known. You...you’re incredible.”

Matt was suddenly fighting the insane urge to cry. He swallowed hard, willing himself to keep it together. He could sense Castle building up to something suddenly, his heart rate and breathing accelerating ever so slightly, the muscles in his arms just beginning to tense as if about to move toward him again.

“Food’s getting cold,” Matt said and turned quickly to his chair and sat down, unerringly grabbing his coffee mug and sipping from it. Castle hesitated a moment longer, heaved a sigh, and made his way to where the other plate was waiting for him. He sat down, then sipped his coffee and practically purred in contentment.

“You make good coffee, Red.”

***

He was blind. He was fucking _blind_. Frank couldn’t believe it. He stared at him pretty much all day, as though waiting for Red to give himself away, to mess up and prove he could actually see. But it was true. Though his other senses were inhumanly sharp, he was completely blind. His pupils didn’t dilate in the light, and that's what finally convinced Frank it was the truth.

Frank thought of all the times they’d fought, how well matched they were, even though Red was a bit smaller than himself. All this time he couldn’t see, and Frank had no idea.

The rest of the evening, Frank amused himself by trying to catch Red off guard. He would throw things at him and Red would effortless catch them each time. The first time he tried it, Red had spun full around, grabbing the glass Frank had lobbed at him and setting it down in one graceful motion before falling into fighting stance.

Frank had just boomed with laughter, doubling over as much as the crutches allowed. Red relaxed and looked annoyed.

“I’m sorry, Red, but you should have seen your face!” That earned him an even more annoyed look, and Frank laughed even harder. It felt good to laugh. How long had it been? He sobered and continued on his way to get a glass of water from the kitchen.

After that, Red caught the projectiles with good enough humor, even doing a few trick leaps when Frank threw something purposefully over his head. Champ joined in, adding a new element to the game by constantly getting under Red’s feet and creating an ever-shifting obstacle. By the time Frank was launching dinner plates it quick succession, Red had finally had enough.

“Castle, let a poor blind guy rest, alright?”

“Fine,” Frank replied sullenly. He clicked over to where Red had settled on the couch and joined him. It had gotten dark after dinner, and Frank had turned on a few lights, not enough to really light the place up, but just enough so he didn’t walk into furniture.

“Do you have more beer?” Frank asked. Red nodded and walked gracefully into the kitchen. The way he moved reminded Frank of a dancer. Not that he’d ever been into classical dance, but he had once taken his wife to a production of Swan Lake for her birthday. He’d been bored most of the time, but the grace and physical conditioning of the dancers was really quite impressive.

Red returned with an entire six pack of some really nice amber ale and they slowly began to make their way through them. Frank kept trying to read Red’s mind. He watched his face as he sipped his beer, trying to read the expression there. He lost his concentration when he began watching the way Red’s throat moved when a swallowed.

He got caught up in remembering the way Red’s head had tipped back as his fingers ran down his neck. Frank glanced up then, and realized that Red was watching him. Well, not with his eyes, but all his focus was on him. Frank realized that Red probably could physically hear, maybe even smell, Frank’s arousal. The thought made him both embarrassed and excited.

“Red,” Frank said, an idea suddenly occurring to him. “So, I know what you look like now, but you don’t know what I look like, correct?” Red’s expression seemed to be both wary and interested.

“That is basically correct,” Red answered slowly. “I had to check your face for injury at one point, but I only touched the wound. I didn’t _look_ at you.”

“Would you like to?” Frank held his breath. _Please say yes, please say yes_ … “I mean, it’s only fair. It’s common courtesy.” Red seemed swayed by that. Frank moved closer to him, and Red turned toward him, appraising.

“Have you ever had a blind person touch your face, to look at you?” Red asked.

“No,” Frank admitted. “You’ll be my first.” Red actually blushed a bit at that.

"I’m just going to warn you...it’s very... _intimate_ .” Red hesitated, fingers partially raised, waiting for an answer. _Oh God, yes please. Intimate, give me intimate_ , Frank thought.

“Yeah, sure. That’s fine,” he said out loud. Red took a steadying breath and raised his fingers to Frank’s face. Frank found out very quickly that Red hadn’t been lying. It was very intimate, and not in the way Frank had imagined. The way Red touched him, analysed each millimeter of his face with those sensitive fingertips, mapping him, memorizing him...it was almost too much. It was like he was seeing inside Frank's soul.

Red touched his lips last. Both of his hands were resting lightly along his jaw. His thumbs lightly traced down the sides of his nose, around the crease of his nostrils, and then down over the slight ridges of his philtrum to his top lip. He paused there a moment, his thumbs resting lightly on the outline of Frank’s mouth before slowly, slowly tracing the border of his lips with both smooth thumb pads. Red gasped when he felt the shape of Frank’s upper lip and looked at him as if wishing to see the shape with his eyes. His fingers began drifting over the soft flesh of his lips, and Frank opened his mouth a tiny bit, just testing, letting Red decide.

Red’s right thumb traced his top lip again, which he seemed particularly enamored with for some reason, and then brushed over the whole surface of his bottom lip. On the next pass, the thumb pressed over the soft skin a bit deeper and came in contact with the wetness of Frank’s slightly open mouth. Red inhaled sharply, and seemed to be trying to get his breathing under control. Just when Frank sensed that Red had gotten himself calmed back down, he darted his tongue out, and flicked the pad of his thumb where it still lay so gently on his bottom lip.

The reaction was incredible. Red gasped. His mouth opened and his eyes closed. He looked like he was in the throes of ecstasy.

Frank couldn’t help it. Red’s responsiveness was too beautiful, too moving. Gently, he took his thumb into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it slowly, languidly, watching Red’s face for every little reaction.

The other man gasped again, lovely but sightless eyes wide for a moment, before fluttering closed. He moaned then, low and sensual, and Frank realized that Red had already made him completely hard, just by his reactions to being touched in the smallest of ways. He longed suddenly to see him completely undone, to come apart. He was almost seeing that now, as crazy as it was. Frank wondered if he could make him come without touching him at all. By just working on his fingers. He glanced down and saw that Red was completely erect as well, trapped inside his jeans. He looked at him with regret. Another time, he thought, and took more of Red’s thumb into his mouth, setting to work with a new purpose.

***

Matt had been anxious about touching Castle’s face. While he had longed for this opportunity, it posed danger as well. He was worried about becoming too wrapped up in the sensations, making a fool out of himself again. Where was that incredible discipline that served him so well in every other aspect of his life? Why did it have to vanish with one gentle caress, when hundreds of fights had left him stronger and more in control?

He loved Frank’s face. It was like his voice. Rough and beautiful at the same time. It was a very masculine face, strong and severe. But there were also graceful lines, something refined about the bone structure, the perfect curve of his skull under the short hair. Then there was his mouth. Matt’s heart nearly stopped when he felt that perfect top lip. A desire to kiss it suddenly rose up so strong he had to pause for a moment and gain control before he could continue.

When Castle licked his thumb, fire shot through him, and then that damned man took the whole digit into his mouth. He had a very very talented mouth. Between the heat, the wetness, and the movement of his tongue in combination with that delectable upper lip, Matt was writhing with pleasure. This was such a simple thing, yet no one had ever done anything like this for him before. He was usually so nervous about making sure the other person climaxed, he wouldn’t allow much attention to be paid to himself.

This though...this was heaven.

Matt realized he was moaning shamelessly and completely hard. He checked in with Castle to make sure he wasn’t either uncomfortable with this or laughing at Matt, both of which Matt wouldn’t like. He realized he didn’t need to worry. All signs were pointing toward Castle being very ok with this.

There was a moment then when Castle went from gently teasing his thumb, to full-on mouth porn. He sucked Matt’s thumb in, still licking in a completely sensuous way. He pulled Matt’s thumb out, and moved to the delicate webbing between thumb and hand. Then he took the next finger into his mouth and gave it the same attention. He continued with each finger, pausing to suck and lick the sensitive skin in between each digit.

By the time he got to his pinky, Matt was a moaning wreck. Castle reached out and carefully cupped Matt’s face, brushing his bottom lip with the pad of his own rough thumb. Matt’s lips parted and Castle gently pressed his thumb onto his tongue. Matt moaned at the sensations in his mouth. Taste and touch. He sucked eagerly at the large calloused thumb. Moaning around it. Licking, sucking. His mind full of this sensation.

Castle was still holding Matt’s hand up to his face. He suddenly slipped Matt’s thumb back into his mouth, and then nibbled the pad between his teeth, teasing it with his tongue. Then Castle moaned and that’s what finally tipped Matt over the edge. The rough voice vibrating along his thumb.

Matt arched his back violently, calling out around Castle’s thumb. Castle slipped his thumb out of Matt’s mouth and slowly stroked down his neck, dragging his wet thumb over the sensitive skin.

Matt’s scream went quiet, but he was still coming. Wave after desperate wave hit him. If he could will his body to move he would have rutted against something, the friction its own type of release, but he was paralyzed by a pleasure so powerful, it bordered on pain.

Finally, after what seemed like an insanely long time, it started to release him. The spasms hit him less and less powerfully, and at last he was a boneless mess, slumped in the corner of the sofa. He concentrated on breathing. He slowly became aware of his surroundings, aware of Castle, who seemed to be extremely aroused and completely shocked.

“Holy fuck,” was Castle’s eloquent comment. “Ok, well, _there’s_ your super power, Red. My _God._ ”

Matt managed a halfhearted smile. Then he groaned and covered his face with his arm.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, ashamed.

“For what?” Castle asked, genuinely amused and curious now. “That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. You’re goddamn gorgeous, you know that?”

Matt just groaned again.

“Why did you have to go and do that to me?” Matt asked helplessly.

He doubted that Castle had ever taken him very seriously, but at least he had treated him as an equal. Now he knew the sad truth, that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen could be brought down by a simple caress.

Matt would have to fight to keep his desire in check and to stick to his ethical code, desperately trying to keep something of himself alive through all of this. Helping Castle was turning out to be both the best and worst decision of his life.

Matt still had the hope that they could work together as a team, finding a way to blend their philosophies into something that could actually work. He couldn’t go messing things up just because this man had touched him. He should never have allowed it, but the first time had a been a surprise, and, just like a powerful drug, Matt hadn’t refused when it had been offered again.

Castle reached for Matt as he stood up. Matt barely escaped the hand that sought his arm. He gathered his suit and made his way swiftly to the bathroom, locking the door behind him, even though he could hear that Castle wasn’t in pursuit. He cleaned himself up, put on the Daredevil armor and mask, and then listened carefully. He could hear Champ’s whining breath as he slept in the bedroom, ignoring the two humans and their craziness. Castle was still on the couch. His breath and heart rate were back to normal.

Matt walked back to the living room, trying not to feel like such a fool. He felt Castle turn and look at him.

“I’m sorry, Red,” Castle said quietly. “You don’t have to go out, I won’t touch you again if you don’t want me to.” Matt stood still. He had no idea what he wanted. He just knew that if he went out, he might be able to help someone. Do something good. Something redeeming. He would leave the weak Matt Murdock here with Castle, and the real him, the strong him, would go and do something concrete and real and painful. The agony would cancel out the pleasure, and he would be able to think again, reason again.

“I’m coming back. I just need to...clear my head a bit.”

There was a long beat of silence. Castle seemed to be debating whether or not to say something. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Ok, I’ll be here, Red. I’ll be waiting.” He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the sofa.

Matt slipped away up the fire escape, climbing higher and higher toward heaven.

 


End file.
